


For The Life of Me

by sksdwrld



Series: Rock the Cradle [12]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: Matt's dying. Marshall flakes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jazminealthia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazminealthia/gifts).



The Malones were much too busy for family meetings, and besides, they weren't the sort. But here they all were, gathered in the living room. At first, the air had been mysterious and chopper, speculations abound about the reason for it. Another MTV contract (collective groans), a family vacation, an intervention. And then their mother had set up the Skype with Caleb and their father had come out, looking God awful and Marshall had just _known_.

With trepidation, he met his father's eyes and the way they flicked away after a mere few seconds confirmed the betrayal, but still, he held out for something else, anything else. And then, the news.

 _I'm dying_. It was the mantra of the dull rush in his ears and Marshall stared forward into a future of nothingness without his father. A moment ago, he'd been laughing with Emma and now the living room was a joyless vacuum. It was the last thing he'd been expecting. Superman didn't die, after all. He was timeless. Lived forever. And that's what Matt was supposed to do, too. He'd cried, of course he had. Couldn't contain them at all the way he'd pushed down the scream of anguish that he let loose in his his car on the side of the road after he'd gone.

Nine months, nine extra months, they could have had but his father didn't want the treatment. Wasn't worth it, he said. He'd seen what it did to his father. And it was the ultimate cosmic joke because Matt had spent his entire life defying his father's stereotype just to fall prey to the same disease.

Marshall went home and cleared his schedule for the next year, then sat in his office until long after it was dark and Elena found him. And he couldn't even play his sad tune because she'd lost her own mother to cancer on short notice years before.

"He's dying," he said to her shadow on the wall, then glanced over his shoulder where she was silhouetted by the hall light behind her.

"Who?"

"Dad." And that's all he had to say.

"Oh, Marshall..."

Her sympathy should have meant something but for those first few days, it didn't. It was an annoyance. A patronizing distraction from the rage and the terror he felt inside. Like he was a little boy again and he was being abandoned while his father went off on tour. Only this time, he wasn't coming back. For real.

It wasn't supposed to end this way. His father had a rough enough life that he should have gone, peacefully in his sleep. The shock of it alone would have been enough pain for Marshall, for the rest of the family. But knowing, this was worse. The count down. The anticipation. Waking each morning and wondering if the night before had been _the night_.

Through it all, Marshall spent as much time with him as he could. Savoring the last experiences as they happened. Like childhood milestones but in reverse. Marshall railed against his mother for forcing his father out of their home for his final days. A dying man's final wish was sacrosanct, but no, he gave it up for her peace of mind. It was a final grand gesture and it was huge.

Hospice was the worst. The smell of death emanated from the building and Marshall could smell it from the parking lot. There was a woman and a young boy on the patio near the front door. They appeared to be keeping a blanket hooked up to a ventilator company and they watched him as he dragged his wheelchair from the car and got himself situated. It was more of a struggle than usual because Marshall's hands were shaking. It was the beginning of the end and there was no going back and-- they stared at him as he wheeled himself inside.

Stares had been commonplace for Marshall all of his life but not it was unnerving. Did they know who he was? Did they think he was the one dying? Would they call the press?

The room was supposed to look cozy and comfortable. Quilts, flowers, warm colored textiles on the walls and on the bed. A hospital bed that seemed out of place, and in it, his father. Marshall didn't remember him being so...average sized. He was dwindling, shrinking, from a man of greatness to a tired, sick, frail, old man. He was in pain, Marshall could tell, and even though his eyes were closed, his face was drawn, his jaw tight. Marshall's mother was curled in the bed with him, her head on his chest.

Marshall tried to stay quiet as he made his way closer but Eddie opened her eyes, sat up. "Marshall's here," she announced softly and Matt opened his eyes.

"Hey pal..."

Through it all, Marshall had tried to stay stoic around his father even though his family all knew it was a ruse. Now, his voice broke on the first word he said. "Dad..."

"Don't cry, Marshall. I've made my peace."

"I haven't." 

Matt smiled and closed his eyes again. "You eat, sleep, and shit peace, Marshall...what's your hangup here?"

Marshall wanted to smile but couldn't. "I'm not ready to let you go, Dad. I don't want to be without you." He rolled closer and took the hand that Matt held out to him, squeezed it tight.

"Impermanence," Matt said, squeezing his fingers back. "Right?"

Rip"Right." Marshall wiped his eyes with his free hand and looked over at his mother.

"He's tired, Marshy."

"I know, Mom."

"Emma and the twins are on their way..."

"Yeah," Marshall acknowledged her then looked back at his father. Time was quickly fleeting and his father was going to spend his last days sleeping, and there was nothing he could do to change it. "Maybe later I can do a Reiki session, Dad?"

"Sure, Marsh..." He sounded bone weary and resigned. Several minutes passed and Marshall quietly collected himself while his his father drifted to sleep.

"I'm going to have Elena bring Matty by after school..." Marshall said suddenly, frowning.

"Okay," Eddie sounded tired too and Marshall finally looked at her. Finger curling loosely in her hair as if she didn't even have the energy to be anxious, though the sentiment was still there. "I should call the priest." She cleared her throat and looked straight past Marshall. "For last rights."

He should have volunteered to help her. To do it for her, but he couldn't. Couldn't fathom the ritual. What it meant. He nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, Mom..." He needed to do something. Anything. "Can I get you something to eat? Drink? Your sweater from the car?" Was he really so transparent?

"Sure, Marshall. That sounds good." She gave him a sad, tight lipped smile along with her keys. "Send your sister in, when you see her."

Marshall's throat tightened and for a moment, he could only nod and swallow. "Will do."

The others were going in as he was coming out and in all of his life, he'd never felt like more of a traitor. A sham. An impostor. A phoney Malone-y.

Kal slowed as they passed and Marshall met his eyes, expecting vitriol. "He's sleeping," Marshall conveyed the message, barely holding it together. "Mom's arranging the last rights...she said to go right in."

"I need another cigarette," Kal grumbled and did an about face. In the parking lot, he sat in the passenger side of Marshall's car and drew deeply from his cigarette. The one Marshall had accepted burned at the end of his fingertips though he did take a shallow puff now and again. They didn't say a word to one another, but there was comfort in the silence. 

When Kal was finished, Marshall carefully clipped the cherry from his cigarette and stuck it behind his ear so he could deposit it in the receptacle by the door. His mother's sweater was in his lap.

"Got your bullshit Zen Master schpiel ready?" Kal asked as they headed back toward the building.

"Nah," Marshall said, bumping up over the curb.

"Pity. Could have used it in a time like this." Kal was so deadpan that Marshall couldn't tell if he was joking or not. It didn't matter.

He shrugged. "Dad's dying."

"Yeah," Kal agreed. What else was there to say? "Yeah."


End file.
